


Over the Barbed Wire

by Patchlamb



Category: No Fandom, Over the Barbed Wire
Genre: Angels, Child, Crazy, God - Freeform, Growing Up, Imaginary Friend, Imagination, Original Story - Freeform, Religion, Short Story, angel - Freeform, religious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 15:01:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1748801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patchlamb/pseuds/Patchlamb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cold is a depressant; the heat of carpeted rooms are much more appeasing. But the cold is something that seeps into ones bones, and far into the reaches of ones mind to pull up memories of old childhood friends who've since long moved on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over the Barbed Wire

**Author's Note:**

> Began October 28 2013, and last modified December 10 2013.

Days where shorter in autumn. Leaves changed from lush greens to the crisp brights of crimson, and pumpkin, and the sun, and all the warm colors that were so odd to see in such cold a climate. Heat was from within, that radiated off of one's skin and circulated through one's jacket. It was just never warm enough; never hot enough for me. 

Would huddle over the vents in the floors to let the hot air rush over my legs. My room, as once described, was “hotter than Satan's asshole.” Still I never was satisfied with the temperature. Got chills when the warm hugged my skin from the vents. Sometimes I neared on turning the air to eighty degrees, but mother wouldn't have it. So, when the freezing mornings blew in to mark fall, I would stay locked in my cramped little room as much as I could. God, I would marry whoever invented the blanket.

Wind blows the trees, rattling their dried leaves as they one by one begin to cover the damp earth. Boney fingers fiddle with oddities within jacket pockets, trying to keep from numbing. Blue eyes like ice; veins like hot dark magma. The sky is hidden by a thick wisp of dark clouds. They threaten to pour cool winter rains early, but I look at them stoically. 

I wish it would just snow all ready. 

The woods beckon; come to me, they whisper, come and hide. Those dark clumps of pine and thicket; to know every tree and every abandoned rabbit hole. I follow the sweet sounds of birds that still dare fly in this part of the country. Crunch. Leaves shatter under foot, and I follow the trail worn down by decades of being trampled upon. Down the hill, through the weeds, then straight ahead the bumpy dirty road. From there the rotting log must be avoided and leaped over. One can easily trip here, were they not to look where they are going. Then, there, just over the barbed wire fence and past the trees; the stretch of grass I've carved memories of inside my brain. 

At the edge is where we stood; my friends and I, at different points of life. In fifth grade Sammy and I took a video camera, and that was when my mother's dog still ran upon the Earth. Then times after that, Sarah, and Katy, and once Dalas and I crossed to the other end- where the horses where fenced in, far from touch. At the edge; junior year Lilly and I stood still, eyes turned upward at the pitch above us watching stars blink in and out of existence. And then, in times of need, it was to be walked alone with music low in one's ear.

The void of space that spanned from end to end was always a hole inside me. Such possibility, so much so it could never be filled with any manner of physical or emotional object. The pictures taken with my mother's old camera were still out there. Still data bits on the endless brain of the web, lost to some ancient pseudonym. Photos from better times. When pretend was fun and Sammy and I enjoyed each other's company, far before we learned how to form true fibs in our mouths.

I breathe deeply, standing at that place of time and simply feeling the essence of it; enjoying it's existence. Shivers are sent through my entire being at the pure emptiness. I hate the cold, but the memories drag me from my nest and into the lone wilderness. Where the wind, and the trees, and the birds, and the grass, and all other things say barely above a breath,“fly bird, and come back.”

I suppose it's true about my bedroom. That it is hotter than Satan's asshole. An ever burning pit of bubbling lava and hot white Christmas lights. But the still- the calm of the drafty autumn evenings- will always find a way to ebb me into its comforting arms. There can be no manner of frost, or chill, or even snow, that can convince me otherwise to forget my trips. It wipes the dust off of old memories, stored within the dark nooks of my brain.

When I was eleven I would bundle into over sized coats and boots to sludge through the wet grass and mud. From there I had one destination- find God. I found him in the kick of a soccer ball; the rusty springs of an old trampoline. I would make my trek into my forest and down to that field. Would cross the fence though I wasn't supposed to, and stand there in the opening and just stare up at the sky. I'll never forget it- what happened to me so long ago. Hands together, eyes wide, I said “Hello, are you listening?” Like any good girl, I waited for a response.

“It's me.” Slow sigh. “I cried today. But I mean, you know that, cause you're God n'all. But yeah. Cause they was mean again, but it's okay 'cause I got you.” Smile. “I wanna pray for them. They don't know what they do, even though they laugh. And pray for mama, so she can stop smokin' and drinkin'.”

Sometimes I just didn't know what to say. Wouldn't have anyone else to talk to, so I would start rambling. A rock was nudged in quiet thought. “She won't go to church cause she says it makes her feel bad. I wish she would. You know tomorrow is pajama day at school? I get to wear my sleep pants to class!”

In the end, after so long of spouting droll every day occurrences, I would bow my head. “Thank you Jesus for life, and being alive, and mama, and her boyfriend, and my dogs and cats, and even my bullies. Amen.” I would end.

It was much simpler back then. Things to be thankful for were such plain events as petting my cat, or mama making something I liked for dinner. Not like now; having enough money for gas, or having the time to spend with your best friend out of school knowing she works. 

On that particular day so long ago, I had become blessed. For up from the Heavens there came a reply. “Hello,” it whispered gently down. “Hello.”

Bewildered, I had raised my freezing fingers to my mouth. I trembled and fell upon my knees, promptly wetting them from the grass and earth. “God!” I said.

“No,” it replied. “I am not God.”

Confused I scrunched my eyebrows. My arms had come up to cradle my body. “Who are you?”

“I am an angel.” it said. “I have been listening to you talk.”

I took this in with shock. “Are you my guardian angel?” I asked. “Why do you reply only now?” For I had learned very early on from media that everyone had a guardian angel. They stood over you and watched after you, so you would be protected and safe from harm.

“There is no such thing.” it said. “I speak now because,” the voice paused, as if hesitant. “because this is when I so choose. Stand up.”

I swiftly obeyed. “Oh.” The wet spots on my legs chilled my skin underneath. “Where are you? Can I see you?”

“No.” it said. “Return to your mother, for she calls to you child.”

And just then I heard the voice of my mother, loud from the other side of the woods that ended in our house. She called my name and I answered back. Said to come inside, it was almost time to eat dinner. “Angel?” I asked before leaving. It did not reply, and I walked back the the house.

The next day after school I ran to that emptiness with the urgency of the rabbit prey to the fox. Smoothly I found footing around the fallen limbs and dying bramble: log, wire, field. Nervous, hands folded polity, I looked into the invisible kingdom of God and began to talk. “Today,” I said “they called me names again. Jay threw stones at a boy, n'then got pushed over. Then he threw rocks at me and I pushed him too, I'm sorry.” I looked down, feeling guilty. “I pray for him, 'cause his mama breaks his video games. I pray that he has to stop taking medication.”

From there I switched to homework, and gym time, and how grateful I was for my friends. Finally, ice eyes once more to the sky, I said “Amen.” and waited.

The silence filled me. My bones ached and air caught in my throat. It was a painful tightness that constricted my chest and rattled my nerves.

“Hello,” a voice came. “I hear you.”

Teeth showing and face wrinkled in pleasure, I bowed my head once. “Hi again angel!”

“Human, I am called Enosh.” it whispered down. 

I bowed my head once more. “Enosh.” I mouthed without breath. My brain was a blank slate, ready to be craved into. I sat into the grass, which had been warmed by the afternoon sun; a nice contrast to the cool air of fall. Mindful of bugs I kept watch on the delicate blades that stretched out into the open air. “Can I see you?” I asked as I had the time before.

“No.” 

Again dejected. “Why not?” said I. Enosh was silent. “Hey, are you a boy angel, or a girl angel?” as I was unable to tell from the soft honey that was its voice.

“Angels of the Lord came to be with nothing to hide, unlike which he has made mankind.” rang the words into the air gently. 

A child was I, and hearing this made a noise in my throat. “You fly around naked?” I mused.

“Nakedness,” Enosh said “implies shame.”

My little mind pondered over this information. My angel was neither a boy or a girl? The words rolled about in my head, collecting dust from the corners of under worked parts of my brain. I picked at the fall's grass, ripping it to bits and getting green stuck under my fingernails. “Wish I could run around naked and not get in trouble.”

The most curious sound rumbled from up above, and I was frightened until I realized it was the low jitter of laughter. A grin broke, and I was proud of myself. “I need ta go, cause mama's gonna be yellin' about getting my homework done. M'kay? But I can come and talk tomorrow.” I paused to stand. “Bye-bye Enosh!” from there I returned home; the responsible young lady I was.

After that meeting I was greeted, for some long weeks, a silence. Dead woods and dead soul. A child's voice echoing up to the Heavens to be replied with in a hush of far away wind and rattling trees. Enosh was gone for a long time, and I was sad. I made up stories in my head for him; brave angel of the Lord who listened to poor little girls like I. He was off elsewhere making some other kid feel wanted, was all. Yes, I decided to call Enosh a he. 'It' simply wasn't proper to call one of God's servants.

I passed my school days dully, glancing to the ceiling of classrooms in times of despair and wondering where my angel was. New theories: Too much of a sinner, Satan's trick, limited time on Earth, imagination, insulted him. When they would tease I would take to sneering, because I had talked to an angel and they hadn't so they could just go away.

My knees imprinted with the carpet's fabric each night as I slumped to my bedside and prayed. I told God all about my dog, and that I was trying to be brave, and please oh please send Enosh back. Night's darkness consumed me. It ate away at my sanity. You're alone, little girl, so alone. 

Week four and I had given up. I knew he was out there, but I was just a sinner. Unworthy of the kingdom was I, and unworthy of Enosh. Life went on, after all. I had homework to do, and a bike to ride. My neighbor Sammy and I rode up and down my driveway every week. Bundled into our jackets we let our tires bumble through the gravel, wind knotting our hair. I was glad mama taught me to ride, even though it had been against my will and she screamed at me when I would fail then cry.

Sometimes Sammy could not come over. Desperate for entertainment, I would drive that stretch alone without her. Naturally I did not wear a helmet. One day, as I was going up the path towards the road, my wheels thumped over a particular rock and I'd lost control. The steering slid. Unstable, I was tipped over and flung into the pale rocks face forward. I sat up, tears forming buds in my eyes. My face bled and I ached. That was the first time I had ever wrecked.

Pants dusted off and water promptly streaming down my dirty and scrapped cheeks, my bike was turned onto its wheels and pushed back in the direction of the house. It was then some revelation occurred; a miracle.

“Unsteady are you child, to let yourself loose track of the way.” came a familiar voice, like that of a bell.

I stopped walking, blood and tears forgotten. I wiped at my face with a shaking hand, trying to clear the liquid away. How shameful. “Enosh! I thought you left me!” I gasped.

“Never.” He said, and I was again happy.

Reaching the house, I parked my bike in the back. Mama was upset to see I had fallen. I got a talking to about just how dumb I was to not wear a helmet. I did not tell her about Enosh.

Now covered in band aids, I sat in my room alone. “I didn't know you could leave the field.”

“I can see your mind; I am no wild animal, fit only for its single environment.”

I gnawed my lip, biting the flesh then chewing the skin. “You were quiet for a long time, I thought you hated me. That maybe I sinned too much and God was mad.”

“God's children are always cherished. You returned to the pasture many times.” he said.

I nodded. I was feeling guilty for ever thinking that God could hate anyone; even me. Not only that, but I felt guilty for other reasons too. I discovered it in second grade and, feeling as stressed as I was thinking Enosh wasn't there, began to do it again. “Enosh, I wanna tell you something.” I said hesitantly.

“What do you come to me about?”

My fingers were suddenly interesting. “I,” I began awkwardly. “touched myself again. I'm sorry. I know it's wrong.”

I felt an internal sigh from him. “Do not ask forgiveness from a servant of the King.” he said. I could sense a sort of sadness in his voice, though not from what I had confessed. 

My room was still. I stared up at the crumpling ceiling. “Please don't go away again.” I pleaded after a long silence. “I was so lonely.”

I had not expected a reply. “I will not. I am... sorry.” it was as if the word was strange upon his tongue; like he had never said it before and was testing it out in the form of a true apology. Either way, I was ecstatic.

Everyday I would talk to Enosh: on the playground, on the bus, in my room, the woods and the backyard. Anywhere and everywhere, I had a direct line to him. It became a routine, and I always had someone there who would understand me when I would speak.

I realized no one else could hear him. Under pressure, I whispered under my breath in my first class of the day. “Why are they such meanies,” I said lowly, looking down at my decade old desk. “don't they have anything better to do?”

“They are just as lonely as you.” said Enosh, right there in class at full force. “Praying about the same things.”

I blinked up, looking about in exasperation. No one was phased; not one peer batted an eye. I scrunched my face. “No one can hear you?” I whispered carefully.

“Only you.” he said bluntly.

I hummed. Even with that knowledge I only spoke in public on occasion. If I did it too much, someone would notice and pick on me for seemingly talking to myself. I had enough of that.

So, for a long time, Enosh was always there. Sometimes I felt him; looming out of sight behind me. I felt his breath in the cold breeze as winter began to blow in. I would imagine what he looked like- a handsome man with blonde hair and muscles- a proper solider of God, indeed. I would sit and pretend his wings surrounded me, keeping me safe from the harsh reality of the mortal world. Even though he would sound emotionless at times, there was always a subtle affection that soothed me.

On my thirteenth birthday he sung me to sleep in an ancient tongue unknown to my young ears. His voice soft and sweet, my heart was filled with a love for God I hadn't felt in a long time. That night I rested peacefully and awoke early, hours before mama would stir. The house was cold. My bare legs shook with goosebumps. I stood in the dim living room, a feeling of emptiness in my stomach as I listened to the quiet. 

From there I felt the woods call me. Come, girl, come out into the snow. I dressed, then found my coat and boots silently. Slowly the front door was unlocked, and I stepped onto the porch. The world was lit with a low light from the sun rise, just barely peeking over the horizon. It reflected off the snow and made the world bright. I slipped my pink mittens on, and eventually let my footfalls step into the morning snow.

Puffs of hot breath left my mouth, visible in the dead air. The snow slushed under foot and my prints led down into the forest of empty trees. “Hello,” I called into the darkness. “I've come.”

“Hello.” I heard Enosh say. “Yes you have.”

I stood at the fork where the log lay and crossed my arms, for the wind chilled me to the core. My body wished once more for the warmth of my bedroom. There lay my bed; a mess of blankets. But I obeyed him, for I obeyed God. 

“Thirteen years now you have been alive.”

I nodded. “Yup. I thank God for it!”

His voice sounded different today. Something was strange about the way he formed his words. “Three years I have listened. Three years you have talked.” Enosh said plainly. “And I will finally show you.”

My mind whirred, gears turning. “Show me?” I asked.

“Come to the pasture.”

Filled with curiosity and excitement, I stepped over the log and headed forward. I rose a leg over the barbed wire fence that I had been crossing for years, and found myself at the edge. Up in the sky above the emptiness was a blinding star. It shone so brilliantly it lit up the entire field. I shielded my eyes and squinted up at it until the light dimmed, falling to the Earth at a snail pace. “Enosh?” I asked.

“It is I.” he said. For once I heard the source of the voice; streaming loudly from the dim lit star that began to hoover over the grass, but never touching it.

“You're so bright!” I said loudly, as there was a dull hum in my ears. It was almost painful.

“No,” said Enosh. “you cannot see. You are blind. Close your eyes then open them again, and you will see clearly.”

I did as I was told. My eyes shut. Then, I counted to three, took a breath, and cracked them open. There floating over the field was Enosh. I was struck with panic. He was like that of a giant, bigger than any human I'd ever seen. Two wings stretched high over his head, a pale blue that glowed. A second set flapped behind him, and a third covered his groin, all covered in eyes. His hands were set in front of him, folded as if in prayer, and all his eyes were wide open and unblinking. His hair stuck in all directions and was a dirty blonde color. He did not speak.

My heart thumped wildly in my chest as I looked upon him. I was scared. Enosh was not what I had envisioned as an angel. I took a step back, then whipped about and started for the fence. I tripped in my escape, bloodying my leg at the log and ripping my pants as a branch caught.

Upon reaching the house, I locked the front door and bundled under the covers with my stuffed animals. My blood stained through my clothes and into the sheets. After that, I don't remember ever hearing his voice again. Enosh was gone.

There is just no forgetting something like that. I had felt the world was against me in those days; when school was all that mattered on weekdays and video games dominated my life on weekends. So many people seemed to despise my existence. But Enosh was there, and things felt better when he spoke. Then I grew up, and blinding pain encased my mind in that field on the day after my birthday. I was once more alone, but this time it was perfectly okay. I did not need Enosh any longer. And, eventually, I didn't need God, either.

I came to realize in my time of need I had created a character; a friend who could never leave. Always caged up in my mind and shackled to my skull. He with his kind voice- always reasonable, always patient. The true embodiment of a best friend, or a good parent.

This field was not only a sanctuary of memory, but a place of enlightenment. The place where I realized the only person I needed was myself. Within my frail frame lay a thousand worlds; libraries of books and armies of friends. I learned to retreat there as life quickly approached. There was no need for the fake image of some Heaven- there would be no light after my eyes closed.

And yet here I stand again, looking out at the dead grass. My brain is trained on that spot- that section of the field where he casually hung overhead. I can still feel the glow of the light and the pain of the roar in my head. That damaging emotion of panic I inflicted upon myself lingers despite what it implies. How can one's imagination drive them to such pain? I'd like to think myself sane, even though I experienced the Hell that was elementary, and all it's little demons. I got out alive with emotional scars; in the end my own brain turned against me, just like everyone else did. Perhaps everyone has something a little off about them, some are just better at hiding it from themselves than others.

I tuck my hands into my fuzzy jacket pockets in a attempt to keep them warm. The wind blows ice air into my face, and burns my ears and nose. My hatred of this season burns brightly in my chest, but not enough to warm my insides. I take one last look at my past; at the remembrance of my old imaginary friend, and the times had with the living before responsibility. The nostalgia is almost more painful than the cold. Then, I turn and take my leave, easily stepping over the low hanging barbs and finding my footing on the trail passed the rotting log.


End file.
